Flash Point
by Warpath Grizzly
Summary: Follow Ancilla, the noble seen as a slave, and Valentia, a common whore called Queen, as they face the trials of the Third Servile War. One thing is sure, they will never be the same people they once were: if they live. Duro/OC & Agron/OC
1. Concordia

The cool air of the subterranean chamber did nothing for the slave woman who screamed in agony as she pushed her child forcibly into the world. Her cries echoed through the hollowed halls, agony filling them to the point of overflowing into the upper levels, where the house of Pompeius rested high and mighty upon its lowly foundations. The woman wailed and cried, her body set aflame by the pain that scorched through her every nerve. Blood stained the air at her lips as well as the bed beneath her legs. The slave was dying, and she knew it. Such was her punishment for offending the Gods with the bastard child that was ending her life as it took its own.

The midwife dabbed her forehead with a cool cloth, for there was little else she could do. The slave woman's chest heaved as the shoulders of her child passed through her thin hips, the rest of its body following smoothly onto the crimson sheet. The midwife wiped the child down, ridding it of its mother's blood.

"A girl."

The midwife announced.

As was custom, the father of the child went to pick up his daughter, and hold her in his arms. It was a symbol of acceptance, a sign that the father knew and professed that this child was his. Though the girl's father was but a child himself at the time, he had outstretched his arms in what was to be a warm embrace, welcoming his daughter to the world. He was stopped however, by the stern hand of his own father. Gnaeus Pompeius Strabo would not have some common whore giving birth to a child his son would accept as his own. At 14, his son was but a child himself, he should never have allowed his son the rights of Toga Virilis so soon.

The slave woman wailed in anguish as she watched her daughter being rejected by the only one who could protect her. She sobbed and cursed the Pompeius line with her final breaths.

"Heed my words Strabo!"

She cried out, using the last amounts of life she had within her.

"Until your son raises his daughter in his arms, there will be no end of trouble for you or your line,"

She said, narrowing her eyes at the man before whispering her final curse.

"Even after she has departed this life."

Strabo was ready to strike the woman down when she collapsed, departing for the after world herself. She left her daughter with not but a curse and a life with which to build her existence upon.

The midwife -knowing that if she did not pick up the child no one would- brought the girl into her own arms. She would have to find a yew to milk and a few cloths from her dominus, however it was her duty to do so. She had, after all, helped bring the child into the world. Her conscience simply would not allow for any other course of action. She looked up at her master, who was already on his way out when she called to him.

"Dominus,"

She spoke, catching the man's attention.

"What of her name?"

She asked, knowing full well that it was a foolish idea to ask of such a thing. Still, if she had anything to do with it, the child she held in her arms was going to get at least one gift from her grandfather.

The man pondered for a moment, tapping his chin a before waving his hand in the air as though shooing away an annoying insect.  
>"I'll call her Ancilla."<p>

He said in an uncaring tone as he turned on his heel and made his way back to the upper villa.

The midwife turned to the girl crying gently in her arms.

"Ancilla..."

She whispered. It was a beautiful name, one that when spoken resounded of nobility, grace, and kindness. It was a beautiful name; if one was ignorant of its meaning.

"Slave maiden."

The midwife whispered, cuddling Ancilla close, offering her what physical warmth she could.

* * *

><p>Sixteen years later and Ancilla lay in her bed, awake well past the midnight hour, covering her ears. Though still not considered her father's daughter, she had been allowed the graces of a room inside the villa when her grandfather had died. Her father was a kinder man than her grandfather; however Strabo's dislike of his grandchild had still rubbed off on his son. Gnaeus often looked at Ancilla with a certain question glinting in the back of his eyes, wondering if she was truly his, wondering if his father hadn't been right all along. To him she was little more than a slave in his house, one that been born in it and thus had gained a bit of favour.<p>

It hadn't always been so, in fact when Gnaeus had been in his earlier years he had often played with and taught Ancilla in his spare time. Despite her grandfather's many disapproving rants Gnaeus had taught her how to read, and even on very special occasions, how to ride the horses amongst his father's stable. That had abruptly ended however when Strabo took a whip to the young girl's back. It had been the first and last time she had felt the sting of a whip upon her shoulders, however she had never been able to forget the sting of the leather.

As the years passed however, Gnaeus had been given much less time off, and it was almost as though he had forgotten that she existed. She had to admit, that when she had received her own room after her eleventh year, and an attendant in her thirteenth, she had thought that perhaps he was trying to make up for not being there for her in her life, to tell her that she was remembered.

This night however, she was completely forgotten, as the music, laughter, and moans of her father's whores rang out through the halls. Ancilla took a pillow and shoved it over her head. Her hands weren't doing the job of keeping out the noise, and as she soon found out neither was the pillow. She wondered silently to herself why her father still kept his whores. Had he not learned his lesson? The question ran like poison through her mind, tainting every happy memory she had of her father.

The girl took a deep breath and added another pillow to the top of her head. Soon they would be done, she assured herself, and she could get some sleep. Tomorrow the light of day would bring with it the promise of something spectacular, something never witnessed before; a gladiatorial game. Ancilla's heart beat faster just thinking about it. Her father had never brought her anywhere before out of shame, however he had agreed that for her sixteenth birthday, she could be allowed to attend a day of games. Her father had always been a great fan of the games; it was why he had moved to Capua in the first place. The city was home to the finest gladiator schools in all of the republic, and with that in mind, Ancilla knew that her father would be in high spirits all day long.

Finally the noise began to dim, and the villa went quiet but for the wind that flew through the halls.

Yes, high spirits. And with them would come the opportunity to please her father, and hopefully gain his recognition. No longer would she be Ancilla. She would be granted the name he had wanted to give her at birth; Gnaea Pompeia Concordia. Pompey the Peaceful.


	2. Magnanimus

Morning dawned upon the city of Capua, much to the dread of the young woman who sat perfectly still in the cell beneath the arena stands. The two women beside her had cried themselves to sleep hours ago, and the man, the only other person in the cell, had silenced himself. He, like the slave girl who watched her final sunrise, had resigned himself to his fate. The colours of the dawn, as unwelcome a sight they should have been, comforted the slave girl in a way that most would find strange. She marvelled at the beauty of the golds, pinks, purples, and blues that spread across the sky. It was amazing to her that all these colours should be visible through the small window carved into the side of the solid wall before her. She was sure when she got up she would have the marks of the cell bars etched into her back in angry red impressions, but that really didn't matter to her at the moment, nor did she suspect it would matter in any of the moments she had left.

She barely heard the sound of a key entering the lock of her cage, or the shouting of the guards for them all to get to their feet. In fact, she only stopped looking at the now blue sky when the guard took her roughly by the arm, and dragged her from the cell. He thrust her forward into the line with the other slaves, and took iron cuffs to her wrists and ankles. They bit into her already raw flesh, but she made no disagreeable sounds. She was going to die anyways, moaning about it would do her no good.

Once all the slaves had been bound together the man led them through the passages and out into the arena, which the girl couldn't help but think seemed rather small. One of her luckier tribesmen, an escapee from Rome, had come back to their village claiming that his captors had built rings that could fit two armies easily, and yet this one couldn't fit more than ten sleeping men without it becoming crowded. She felt robbed really; she would have liked to see one of these arenas before her time was up. However, if this was to be her final sight, she would make do with it.

She was forced to kneel, facing a sort of balcony that held six seats. She suspected that since there was space for at least twenty standing people if not more, that this must be where the nobles were to be seated. The people that finally sat down in the seats did indeed dress differently than those in the rest of the stands. She decided that what separated those on the balcony from those in the stands must have been money. She eyed the only woman to sit among them, a girl really. She appeared younger than the slave girl by at least a winter, if not more. She noted the look of concern on the girls face and wondered if she was worried for the cleanliness of the sand. Surely, she was not concerned for the lives of the slaves.

"Our first offerings of blood!"

One of the men cried out, and motioned towards the kneeling slaves. The two women were quietly moping, while this time the man had burst into frightened tears. The slave girl couldn't blame him after she saw the monster of a man who had just entered the arena. He seemed to have muscles upon his muscles, and the metal that glinted fiercely in the sunlight did nothing to diminish his threatening demeanour. From what she had heard from her escaped tribesman, this must have been a gladiator.

He stood behind the first woman, who let out a small sob as the Gladiator moved her hair in an almost caring fashion before gripping her shoulder. He then plunged his blade into her back, severing her spine. The woman gasped and fell to the ground, her blood staining the sand, and sending up a cheer from the crowd.

The slave girl, who was at the opposite end of the chain from the now dead slave, was slightly sickened. The dead woman's companion was the next to fall, and she did so silently. The man beside the slave girl did not go so quietly, but he went none the less.

Finally, it was the slave girl's turn. She felt the Gladiator's hands upon her back, and felt that she had been right. Her blonde hair was swept aside from her neck as if a lover had wanted access to the sight of her back, though the tightened grip on her shoulder told a story of cruelty, and of the enjoyment at taking another's life. She felt the blade touch her neck.

_No_, she thought to herself. _I don't think I want to die just yet._

She plunged herself forward, and, with her flat against the sand, raised her legs and pushed back. The blade narrowly missed her head, and was instead thrust into the sand, severing a good chunk of her hair. As soon as her feet found proper footing, she took hold of the sword, and used it as leverage to throw herself up. She felt the top of her head connect with his groin. The surprised Gladiator fell forward, but not before the girl removed the blade and took it firmly in her grasp as the man stumbled to right himself. To charge him now would only bring on suffering on the slave's girl part. He would have swung around and struck her down in a single blow, easily regaining his weapon, and taking her life. She would never get away with facing him directly. Striking out, even with a blade, was suicide. She wasn't nearly as strong as this man, and without a plan she would be bleeding

She scurried back into a corner of the arena, and made herself as small as possible, tucking her legs beneath her in a manner that would allow her to spring up should she need to move quickly. The man approached her, strutting as though advancing on a whore. The slave girl's eyes narrowed, and the Gladiator laughed. The crowd chanted for the man to kill her, and he turned his back to her, raising his arms to the crowd. They cheered, but gasped an instant later. The warning it served came too late. The Gladiator gasped at the feel of the tip of his sword upon his back, before it plunged into his spine.

* * *

><p>Ancilla's eyes widened as she watched the goings-on from her seat in the pulvinus. She watched a woman, her elder (though not by much), take down a Gladiator, a man who'd been trained in combat for several gruellingly long months before he entered the arena. This man in particular, Ignatius, had oft been spoken highly of by her father as a careless, but fierce man. It seemed hubris had gotten the better of him this time. Ancilla let out a gasp as he collapsed to the sand and laid still, the blood draining from his lifeless body.<p>

The crowd cheered, but the men in the pulvinus looked at each other in shock. _What now?_

The blonde in the arena stood, panting heavily, staring up at the pulvinus whilst the men decided her fate. Ancilla locked eyes with her, searching the crystal blue with her own grey orbs. She felt as though she could drown in those eyes, as easily as she could drown in the seas their colour emulated. Ancilla was surprised to find herself on the edge of her seat, whereas before she had been sitting far back, and relaxed. The blonde's eyes had pulled her in so easily, as though she had been caught in an undertow.

"Shall we send out another gladiator?" she heard Vetius ask those present.

"Could we not purchase her, father?" Ancilla found herself asking. Gnaeus turned to her with a look of disapproval in his eyes.

"We have no need for more slaves, especially one which is condemned to die," he snapped.

"Is she not your slave, Vettius?" asked a man whose name Ancilla's father had said was Tullius. Vettius nodded.

"A miner from distant shores, she was trying to escape."

"I would have her as my own Gladiatrix, father," Ancilla whispered imploringly. Gnaeus ignored his daughter as Vettius waved the girl from the arena, bringing for the restless crowd the next pair of gladiators to the sands.

"I beg of you father, let me purchase her. She could bring great glory to our house!"

"My house!" he responded sharply, raising his hand as though to strike her across the cheek. Ancilla flinched, but the blow never came, and when she opened her eyes, her father was discussing affairs with magistrate Sextus. Ancilla eyed the gate where she could clearly see the woman being led away. She had missed her chance, and they would probably take an axe to her neck within a few minutes.

For the next few matches Ancilla sat and watched in silence, feeling her mood slip. She had thought to please her father, but only managed to make him annoyed with her. She watched as gladiator after gladiator fought; some were spared, others were robbed of life before they had a chance to ask for mercy. So far, she hadn't quite been fond of any of the men, and found herself wondering about all the wonderful things her father had told her about the fights. Surely they hadn't all been lies.

"We're moving on to a paired match next," Gnaeus spoke from over his shoulder as he had been facing Vettius the whole time. The gladiators emerged and Ancilla's eyes were caught by quite a peculiar mask. For reasons she could not imagine, she found herself quite taken with the mask, and wondered at the man beneath.

"Ancilla, would you partake in a wager with me?" Tullius asked, leaning forward to speak to her over Vettius and Gnaeus. Her eyes flickered to her father's head, which turned and nodded his permission. Ancilla smiled. She had never made a bet on a gladiator fight before.

"Two denarii says that the man with the green subligaria, Hasdrubal, will kill your man of choice," he said, motioning towards the man he spoke of. Ancilla thought for a moment.

"Five denarii says that the man with the lion on his shield lives."

"Five denarii it is then. Your man's name is Ashur, should you care to properly mourn him," he revealed, and nodded at Vettius to begin the match. She watched her man fight, and while it was apparent he needed more training, he was not without skill. He moved quickly to avoid the blows sent his way, though rarely struck out. Everything appeared to be going fairly well, right up until Tullius' chosen man smashed Ashur's helmet with his axe, sending the protection flying to the sand below. Ancilla let out a gasp as the man fell to the ground, and she got a clear look at his face. He looked fair enough to be Roman, though the way his beard was fashioned she guessed he was Syrian in decent. Hasdrubal's axe was swung at him, but he rolled and easily avoided it. He tried blocking his attacker's axe with his shield, but the axe simply thrust the protection aside, leaving Ashur wide open. He tried once more only to the same result, and, finally, Hasdrubal raised the axe over the Syrian's head. The poor man let out a roar, perhaps a final cry of courage. The axe was brought down.

Ancilla's heart stopped. She didn't care if she lost the bet; she just wanted Ashur to live.

The axe stopped as a blade pierced the torso of the man in green. The crowd cheered, and as Ashur's saviour removed the blade, Ancilla let out a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding, and let out a cheer with the rest of the crowd before turning to Tullius. He chuckled and passed down a few coins to her. Ancilla tilted her head towards him in a semi bow.

"Thank you for permitting me to play," she said with a chuckle.

"When are you leaving for Africa, dear Gnaeus?" Vettius asked. Ancilla furrowed her brow. Her father wasn't leaving for Africa...

"The slaves gather belongings as we speak. I depart with the dawn, with Ancilla and Iunia to follow once I have made preparations," he answered, before turning to Ancilla and smiling.

"Iunia so enjoys your company, I thought it suitable that you travel with her."

Ancilla nodded and tried to hide her fear with a smile of her own. Her father had many women at his feet, but Iunia was his favourite, and knowing her father he had probably left the villa in her charge while he was away. The girl looked up to the sun and tried to absorb what warmth she could, for tonight as it always was when Iunia was left in charge, Ancilla would be sleeping with the slaves in the cold, damp cellar.

The slave girl was shoved forcibly once again into her cell, much to the surprise of the gladiators who had witnessed her departure. They seemed to wonder at the blood spilt over her chest. The girl sat down once more. Perhaps she should have let them kill her, as now she wasn't sure they would let her out of the cage. They might be intending to starve her to death; a fate that did not appeal to her in the least. She listened idly to the sounds of the arena while she waited for her fate to be decided. Figuring she might have quite a while before judgement arrived, she took to examining the slaves around her. Four cells away there was a rather interesting man with skin as dark as the night sky, whose hair had been shaved from his head, leaving the gash over his ear clearly visible. He must have already fought, the girl thought. The cell just in front of hers held another man, much lighter of skin than the first. He looked scared to death, and when he turned his head briefly she saw he had been branded a criminal. _Probably sentenced to execution_, she thought. The door to the arena opened, and two gladiators were brought back under the stands. Two others were dragged out of the arena by the hooks in their heels.

The live men paused to rest at the slave girl's immediate right, and she paused to inspect them. The larger of the two looked as though he could have taken on a bear or two and lived to tell the tale. One look into the smaller man's eyes, however, and she knew that he was the more dangerous of the two. The larger might be able to kill the bears, but the smaller looked as though he could have tamed them. She didn't even notice that another man was looking down at her through the cell bars until he addressed her.

"You, girl. Who stands your dominus?" he asked, causing the girl to raise her eyes. He was elderly, but not to the point of being useless. The man who stood beside him, a much younger man, the slave girl presumed was his son.

"None," she responded gently, so as not to offend. The elder man raised an eyebrow.

"A fellow slave threatened the life of her domina. The law requires her death," explained one of the slave traders with a bitter tone that suggested he would have purchased her if he could.

"Quintus, speak to Magistrate Sextus towards the purchase of this girl," the elder ordered, while the younger nodded and left. He didn't look happy about the whole affair, however.

"What name did you hold?" the man asked.

"I had none. Domina knew little of my existence, and I cannot recall a name given from birth," she said with a shrug. Of course, she did know her name; her true name. Though she would not have it uttered by a Roman's tongue, no matter how kind. The man nodded and motioned for her to stand. The girl stood, and waited patiently while the man looked her over.

"You are not without skill in combat," he noted.

"A stroke of luck," she admitted, bowing her head. She truly did consider herself lucky to have lived; she had told herself she did not feel in the mood to die that day, however, that thought would not have prevented death from swooping down to claim her. The man chuckled.

"To be continued, I hope. Ah, Quintus. Has the Magistrate seen fit to bless us?" he asked. The younger man nodded.

"The deal is done, father. She is yours," he said coolly. The girl got the impression that this Quintus had been rather opposed to her purchase. The father and son pair might even have quarrelled over the matter.

"Excellent. Come, my good man, release this girl, and see her given new life in the form of a name," he said, smiling. The door was unlocked, and the girl stepped out.

"From this moment forth, you will be known as Valentia."

"A fitting name, father." Quintus agreed, with an approving nod.

"Dominus," Valentia said firmly, bowing her head. A fitting name indeed, she thought to herself. Valentia: Healthy and strong.


	3. Pugnator

Valentia's eyes scanned her new home as she was brought up the path. The wind was blowing her hair this way and that, threatening to carry her over the edge of the cliff. The blonde considered them empty threats; she was far too sturdy to be swayed by the mere whispers of invisible forces, especially those that gusted around her today, though she respected them none the less. She knew all too well from her own land that whispers could turn to raging roars in seconds without warning. She had to wonder how the house before her had managed to survive such blusters, storms, and the passing of time, but as she got closer her questions were answered. It seemed as though the villa was carved out of the very stone of the cliff itself, and she had to admit she was impressed. She had never seen anything quite like it before, and to say that it intrigued her was an understatement. Though, through her journey she had been rather more interested in the men she traveled with. The two men she had been examining in her cell at the arena had followed her, and every so often she would look back and catch the smaller one, who's name she had gathered was Ashur, taking her in. She noted that there was no lust or malice in his eyes, merely calculation. It made her shiver with fear. She had examined him and realised his danger in the cell, and he was now doing the same thing to her; sizing her up. Determining what her worth to him was.

The larger of the two men, Dagan, had simply stared at her hair the whole time, as though he had never seen a woman with such coloured tresses. He had known mostly dark hair, and the only blondes he had seen had been wearing wigs. Likely wigs made from the hairs of girls like Valentia, slaves who had been brought from the northernmost reaches of the world. It didn't seem as though he had expected blonde hair actually grew naturally, and he was taking in the oddity while he still had the chance.

The third gladiator, the tall, dark one, had remained silent, and sullen. Troubled thoughts brewed behind his black eyes, and his frown and pained expression denoted loss. Valentia had wanted to say something to him, something stupid. Just to give his mind relief from the sadness that hung over his head, even if it was but for a brief moment. She hadn't said anything, of course. She didn't feel like starting off on the wrong foot with a man much bigger than herself.

The fourth, and final, slave was a large black man, not quite as tall as the dark, silent one, but he nonetheless commanded an air of respect. He had a calm posture, and way of walking, and this even temper spread to his eyes, though Valentia had only managed a brief glance at them when they had first begun travel, and when she had looked back to see Ashur. Curiosity washed over her as to what the two darker men's names were.

Her dominus led them up to a gate in a stone wall, one that was presumably a courtyard to the villa, and asked the guards to open the bars to them. The gladiators entered, though Valentia looked to her dominus to be sure that she should follow.

"Oenemaus, see to Valentia's education," he said gruffly, and nodded that yes, she should enter.

"Yes dominus," the darkest man said, in a voice that was infinitely pleasing to Valentia's ears. She walked through the gate, and, like a dog being introduced to a new home, took a look around. There was a spot to her immediate right that would have provided shade if the sun had been above her head and not in the process of sinking below the horizon, and a pot of water as well. Farther into the yard there were several wooden forms, for which she couldn't see a purpose, and to her left under a balcony tables were laid out, and Gladiators of all shapes and sizes were sitting down to their evening meal. She lifted her nose to the air, and smelt the familiar scent of a simple gruel. She looked back to Oenemaus for instruction.

"Eat," he said, nodding to the table set up at the front where a pot had been set out. Squaring her shoulders, Valentia advanced, took a bowl, and took a scoop from the pot, only to have her bowl overturned in her hand.

"Women should not enter a ludus, nor should they eat before all Gladiators are satisfied," a large, bald man said gruffly, getting his face very close to Valentia's. She stood still, and examined him for a moment before picking up the slop from the ground and throwing it in his face.

"See yourself satisfied then," she said, and walked away as far as she could. She sat down on a bench, crossed her legs and arms, and rested her head back against the wall. The gladiator did not look pleased at all as he wiped the paste from his face, and it wasn't long before he was advancing on the girl with malice, the intent to harm clearly written in his expression. He charged as a wild bull, raising his fist and aiming for the girl's nose. Valentia waited, focused on his fist, determined not to close her eyes. She uncrossed her legs and steadied herself. Her heart pounded in her head and when it stopped, she jerked her head to the left and felt the shockwave of the man's fist colliding with the wall behind her. Her feet flew up. The top of one of her feet hit harshly between his legs, and the second foot was flat on the man's chest, pushing him backwards as hard as she could. He flew back with a howl of pain, but grabbed at Valentia's leg. She cried out in surprise, and fell forward, though she managed to get her leg to bend, and she landed with both knees over his arms. He might have been strong, but he couldn't crush her, and he couldn't reach her throat in such a position. She hadn't, however, expected him to grab her legs and flip her over so that she was flat on her back, before he pulled her legs up and brought her hips onto his lap. He pinned her arms, and since her legs were now around him, and most of her body was on his legs, she found herself quite unfortunately not able to move.

There was a tense silence between the two as the man seemed to consider what to do now that he had her in a rather advantageous position. Thinking quickly, Valentia pushed up her chest and moved her hips as if to get out of his grasp, and made a small noise of protest. She turned her head, leaving her neck exposed to him, and made sure to mark her panted breaths from the fight as ones that could be mistaken for lust. Chuckling, the man lowered himself to take in her scent, at which point she smashed her head against his with all her might. The man recoiled quickly, and gave her a swift punch to the face, sending her head back to where it had previously been. He pushed his hips firmly to hers, and Valentia was made very aware of the threat he was making.

"Learn your place, pup," he said loud enough for everyone to hear, before tossing her aside and moving back to his food. Valentia brought herself to her feet and dusted herself off before resettling on the bench she had so forcefully been removed from. The talk and laughter from the gladiators hadn't exactly died down during the scuffle, but it became more noticeable to Valentia now that the fight was over. She also began to notice the forceful throb that was making itself known just below her eye, and the pain in her hips from when the man had tossed her so forcefully from himself. Her knee gave a small twinge a bit from that gruff movement as well. She looked around to see Oenemaus, who was shaking his head at her. She was glad he hadn't stepped in to help her. She wasn't stupid, fighting with whoever that man was may not have been the best way to make friends in her new home, but she had to get her message across somehow. Yes, she was a pup, one with no biting strength, but sharp teeth nonetheless.

"You wish to see your death come before the sun fades, I see," a smooth voice remarked. A plain bowl was handed to her. She looked up to see Ashur extending the food towards her, an amused look on his face. Valentia sat up properly, but didn't reach for the food. She merely looked Ashur in the eyes, determining whether or not this was some sort of trick.

"Take it," he said, his grin widening, and eyes sparkling. Slowly, the girl took the bowl from him, and brought it to her nose. She sniffed it. Not that she knew how to detect poison in her food, but usually a bitter scent indicated that something was not quite right with edible things.

"Remember that scent always. If it changes," he said, pausing to look around at the tall gladiator they had walked home with. "It is a sign that Barca has pissed in it," he finished, and his eyes stopped shining. Clearly Barca had pissed in Ashur's porridge more times than the man cared to recollect. She took the spoon, nibbled but a little off the tip. Satisfied that while it wasn't the best tasting thing, it hadn't been tampered with, she ate more fully, though with each bite attempted not to let the food touch her tongue. The man sat down beside her, and waited until she had finished before speaking.

"You fought Gnaeus well, with much cunning."

Valentia eyed him wearily, which he picked up on immediately.

"Such a fearful gaze! I wish only to offer a helping hand where none was offered to me," he chuckled. Valentia narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

"You gain nothing from me," she pointed out, setting the bowl down beside her.

"Nothing?" He asked, sweeping his eyes over her, and smirking. She grimaced and reached for the bowl again as though to use it as some sort of meagre weapon. Ashur chuckled.

"I jest. I gain the pleasure of company, someone of common intelligence."

He looked around again at the men of the ludus. It was becoming clearer and clearer to Valentia that association with Ashur was going to be a curse. He did not like these men at all, and her mind suggested that perhaps they weren't so fond of him, either. Still, if her plan of fighting someone for gaining a bit of respect failed, it would be nice to have someone on her side; even if it was just one other, hated, person. She let slip a tentative smile.

"Gratitude, for bringing me nourishment."

Ashur smiled sadly.

"You will be in need of strength later, for the march."

Valentia wasn't sure what the march was, but she knew by his tone that she would probably be as fond of it as Ashur was of Barca.

* * *

><p>A Note from Grizzly<p>

Hello everyone, after receiving an anonymous review basically asking what this was, I sort of got confused and wondered what the meaning was, which led me to think about how many of you might not be getting what these chapters were all about.

These three chapters are the back story essentially, which happen in Season 0; Gods of The Arena. Chapter 4 will provide a time skip and Duro and Agron will be introduced there.

To the anon that reviewed, I have no idea what you're asking about, so if you would kindly make your reviews clearer in the future, that I may properly answer your questions, I would be grateful.

Thank you for your patience in this matter, and I hope everyone will continue to read and enjoy Flash Point.


	4. Electi

The morning sun had just risen over Capua, blessing it once again with rays of warmth and life. Valentia, though fond of all the sun gave, was not so loving of the orb itself, especially when it first crept into her cell. Although it was completely windowless, somehow those bright fingers managed to reach her subterranean cradle. Today however, it was Ashur, and not the sun that got to her first. He stroked her hair behind her ear and blew gently over it. Valentia's arm swung, and ended up hitting the man on his side.

"Do you not yet know to let sleeping dogs lie?" She growled, striking him again. He chuckled, feeling very little of the blows she delivered. Had she truly wanted him to leave, it would have been easy for her to make him do so.

"Batiatus is going to the market in hopes of purchasing new recruits." He breathed, knowing she knew what that meant.

"Then why wake me you ignorant fuck?" She snapped, lifting her head to glare over her shoulder at him. It meant that there would be no morning training today, as the recruits would be introduced around mid-day. Had anyone else thrown such vile comments at him he would have taken it as a sign of the almost unanimous hatred felt for him in the ludus, however he ignored the harsh words that darted from her lips; they would have stung had their meaning carried any weight. And so Ashur simply smiled gently, hiding the sorrow he felt upon noticing her eyes; they were still swollen and bloodshot. The gladiatrix would not shed tears before others, but she could not hide the evidence that she had done so in solitude.

Of the many who stood her brothers in the ludus, Barca and Pietros –despite not bearing the mark- had been considered among dearest friends; even Gnaeus, whom had treated her violently in her days as a recruit had come to earn his own small place in her heart. All three, one way or another, had been ripped suddenly from the world; leaving Valentia feeling empty and alone. She counted it a blessing that Ashur was yet living, and was likely to remain so with his leg being as it was. Still, she had also thought Pietros untouchable and had been proven horrifyingly wrong.

"Shall I call upon you when the new men arrive?" Ashur asked, having pulled her meager blanket back over her shoulder when she, too lazy or simply to sad to do so, had left it half hanging from her body, drooping onto the floor. She paused for a moment, as though considering options both parties present knew she wouldn't take.

"No," She said finally.

"Dominus grows concerned over your lack of training," He noted. Ashur, ever the cunning man, knew that this news would not stir her from the sleep like state she had been in ever since the death of her companions. "Doctore also becomes ever impatient." He added, knowing that this would be the thing to move her mind if not her body. As suspected, the concern for Doctore set her in motion and made her raise her head again. She was never one to displease that man, though she knew she had and would do so time and again. Ashur had often noted that Oenomaus himself held her in affectionate regard. Valentia had been the first to come to the ludus and know only him as Doctore, and therefore had been the first to obey him unquestioningly. She let her head fall back to the pillow with a huff.

"Wake me only after Dominus has brought them onto the sand." She ordered, and Ashur smiled.

"As you wish my lady." He said with a smirk, retreating from her cell and locking it behind him.

At the same time, down in the main city of Capua, Ancilla woke and pushed herself promptly from her bed. She had not slept well the previous night, but then she hadn't really expected to be able to. Today was her first day back in Capua after two years in Egypt, yet however much the journey had warn her out, the thought of today's events where being turned over so feverishly in her mind that she hadn't found time to shut her eyes. She sat down to her small mirror and began to cover the dark circles under her eyes with the pale makeup stolen from Iulia. No doubt she would soon receive a letter demanding the precious powder's return; however Ancilla firmed herself against the guilt that flooded her. She had never stolen anything in her life until the recent few articles of makeup, but since Iulia had treated her so unkindly during their time together, Ancilla now attempted to stifle the urge to undo the one harm she had returned in kind to the woman. She pulled up her hair and put it into a simple comb, as she had always done in Egypt, and pulled on for the first time a dress that was as red as the blood in her veins. Looking at what she could of herself in the mirror, she nodded to herself. "You are as Diana herself." She said aloud to her reflection, and on hunter's tip toe, so as not to disturb the servants, she made her way out to the stables. She took to her horse and set out while the sun was still low in the sky for the cliffs where Quintus Lentulus Batiatus made his home.

The sun was much higher in the sky when she finally came to the villa doors, and noticed a servant girl scurry into the house. Jumping from her horse, she pated it's neck and handed him off to a stable boy with a mild anxiety. "Please take good care of him." She called, though the servant seemed to pay no heed. Perhaps because he believed that Magnanimus, the stallion in question, did not mean anything to her, as many horses or slaves meant nothing to their masters; however having just passed the reins of her only friend off to someone else, it was natural that she did worry for him. She waited for him to disappear around the corner and made her way into the atrium of the villa.

"You must be Ancilla." A warm voice called, breaking the girl trance like state as she looked deeply into the pool of water before her, fascinated by the light dancing on its cool surface. She looked up to see two blonds standing arm in arm, curious smiles upon both their faces. Ancilla nodded, trying her best to appear confident. The elder of the two blond, and the one Ancilla suspected was the Domina of the house disentangled herself from the other blond, outstretching her arms towards Ancilla. The two women embraced, kissing each other's cheeks. "Welcome to the house of Batiatus. My husband is yet at market, please, sit with us. You must know Illithyia, wife of the Legatus?" The first blond, now confirmed to be Lucretia, a woman Batiatus had mentioned in his letters to Ancilla, pointed to the second blond.

"A pleasure to finally meet the famed beauty," Ancilla said, knowing that flattering Illithyia social position would do her no good, as Ancilla was technically a woman of higher standing than Illithyia was, although neither in look or manner would any stranger be able to tell. Illithyia allowed her ego to swell as she embraced the smaller girl as Lucretia had done.

"Some wine perhaps?" Lucretia asked, to which Ancilla accepted so as not to offend. She needed Lucretia to hold her in favour if she wanted any part of her plan to go well. The women chatted idly, wine coming in ample doses until the mid-day sun was high in the sky, and the slave girl that had previously gone to tell Lucretia that Ancilla had arrived came once again into view saying that the Dominus was on his way in with the new stock.

Ancilla's heart, which had before been beating rapidly, stopped dead. The time had come, and the fact that she going through with it terrified her.

"Are you also here to see the new recruits, Ancilla?" Illithyia asked, a knowing smile on her face. The brunette nodded.

"With eyes towards a gladiator of my own," she said softly, knowing that this would cause quite the scandal. Ancilla was surprised however to find the woman's blue eyes enflamed with envy.

"Ah! The lovely Ancilla has returned to us at last!" A male voice called, making the girl turn and smile at the only other human who knew of her plan. "Apologies, I could not welcome you personally to my humble villa from your long journey." He said, taking her hand in both of his and kissing the back of it. Ancilla smiled.

"Pray, strike the thought from mind." She said. The man greeted Illithyia and kissed his wife, then motioned for the women to follow him to the balcony. By the time they got there, the new recruits were lined up, Doctore already giving his regular speech.

Ancilla handed off her cup to the slave girl behind her, and narrowed her eyes to the men before her. Her heart slowed, and a sense of peace filled her as she shook off all the watered down company and drink that had been offered to her. She was finally able to absorb herself into her own world, which one of these men was going to become a vital part of. She scanned them, her eyes immediately being drawn to two gladiators on the left, similar in build although one was of lesser stature than the other. The shorter of the two had something hanging from his ear, though what she couldn't tell. He looked up, and her eyes fixed upon his as Batiatus gave his speech, something that she did not hear a word of, nor did she hear it when the women spoke in whispers behind him. He had such trusting eyes ... she could not do it; not to him. Her plan would require someone else entirely.

"What make you of the new men?" Batiatus asked as Doctore resumed his speech. Had his hand not settled upon Ancilla's shoulder, she would not have responded.

"They are spectacles," Illithyia noted, to which Ancilla nodded her agreement. "I find myself growing fond of this sordid business of gladiators." The blond said with a grin.

"Perhaps you should consider purchasing one of your own, like Ancilla." Lucretia commented, nodding towards the younger girl.

"A gladiator? I could never!" Illithyia giggled, appalled at the absurdity of the situation, but slowly her eyes traveled to Ancilla's, and in them she found the spark that set the flame. "Could I?" She asked delicately.

"Choose a recruit and he is yours, for a nominal fee of course, such funds to cover the expense of his upkeep and his training."

"The second from the left." Ancilla said quietly, looking down at the man next to the one who had so captured her attention. This new man was of a much more impressive size, and was much more suited to Ancilla's plan. She hated to place such an awful fate on anyone, especially these men, however considering his circumstances, it may end up being more of a blessing than a curse. The man stared straight ahead, seeming to stare at something below the balcony, perhaps at the other men who were viewing the same scene from that view point. She wished he would look up, so she could gage the intelligence of his eyes, but they remained fixed firmly forward. "I would have him."

"Agron. A fine choice," Batiatus stated with a nod. Lucretia smiled broadly.

"Every victory in the arena is an honour to his Domina." She stated, though the comment seemed more to entice Illithyia into making her own choice of gladiator. Ancilla breathed a sigh of relief. She had her man. What happened to the rest of them was none of her concern.

"Who should I chose?" Illithyia asked giddily.

"May I offer a suggestion to aid your dilemma?" Batiatus asked with a smirk. The blond looked at him curiously, and Ancilla thought perhaps he was going to tell her to judge them by the broadness of their chest, or strength of limbs, but instead he turned to the Doctore. "Doctore, our honoured guest wishes to assess the recruits' virtus." Ancilla stood stunned as the sound of Doctore's whip cracked.

"Remove your cloths!" He bellowed. A moment later Ancilla was on the verge of covering her eyes.


	5. Adsumere

Duro had never felt so sore in all his life. His arms shook, his limbs trembled, his bones constantly threatened to turn to sand and sift away beneath him. His stomach felt as though it was attempting to rip itself open, and he knew that this would only get worse before it got any better. He had thought himself fit enough to endure such things; apparently this was not the case. The only good thing to come out of the rigorous training that Doctore had put them through was that it had cleared his mind of any troubling thoughts. But now that Doctore had stopped them and told them to eat, those thoughts were starting to come back in full force.

"Do you think we will be separated?" he asked his brother as they made their way to the shade. He had heard the woman in red claim Agron as her own, which hadn't exactly come as a relief, even though he had originally thought himself the chosen man.

"Only if her husband stands the owner of a ludus, which you best pray to Jupiter himself is not the case," Agron growled, his mood no better than Duro's.

The two brothers had been about to take their food when one of the recruits was sent flying by one of the gladiators, causing Duro to stiffen and Agron to ready himself to hold his younger brother back. The elder brother understood that getting into a fight with these gladiators now was, at best, an unwise mistake; at worst, a deadly one.

"You fucking wait," the injured man roared. "Until gladiators have filled their bellies!"

"Crixus," another, much smaller man called. "Let them eat."

There was much more tension in the air than Argon cared for.

"They must embrace pain and suffering, to become gladiators. This is how it is done!" Crixus hissed.

"Not by you," Spartacus said after a moment, narrowing his eyes. "Let them eat." Crixus let out a dry chuckle, looking around at the other gladiators for support.

"Spartacus, the kind and gentle one," he mocked. A few others laughed, but Agron noticed that not many did.

"Do not mistake me, Crixus. I give no shit about these men, but you are no longer the champion of Capua." Here everything seemed to stop, and the tension rose beyond what Agron had been prepared to handle. "You do not take lead here. You follow." At these words Crixus dawned a look of fury.

"The man who follows is forever at your back. Something to consider, champion," Crixus growled, and while the tension did not die, Agron felt it safe enough to move, and so moved closer to his brother.

"Fucking Gauls," he muttered, for according to Agron there was only one race arrogant enough to be as that man was, and those were the Gauls. Unfortunately, said Gaul happened to hear the rough Germanic voice and he rounded on the recruit. Agron clenched his fist, preparing to defend himself and his brother, but Crixus advanced no further. Something seemed to have stopped him, something from behind Agron. The German turned hesitantly, not wanting to have his back exposed to the Gaul, but not wanting his back to whatever had scared the man enough to stop him from fighting. Behind him, in shadowy recesses of the barracks, the piercing blue eyes of a woman gazed out at him.

Her blonde hair looked dirty and unkempt as if she hadn't bothered to do anything to it in several months. Her skin had a layer of grit on it, and beneath her bound breasts he could see the ribs pushing through her skin as though she hadn't eaten for a good long while. Of her overall appearance, however, it was her eyes which struck Agron the most. They exuded calm as they stared forward at Crixus in a hypnotising manner.

She held the gladiator's gaze as she approached, walking on the balls of her feet, one foot in front of the other as a cat would. For each step she made Crixus seemed to ebb away, taking a seat at a nearby table. Once he was seated, the woman flicked her eyes first to Agron, then to Duro, then to the cauldron of porridge. "Eat," she said lowly, before moving smoothly to seat herself next to Crixus. Agron remained stunned, staring at her in silence until Duro nudged his arm and nearly made him jump out of his skin.

"Agron, she bears brand," his brother noted, pointing to the woman's forearm, where, like the other gladiators, she had the mark of Batiatus.

As the woman sat down, Rhaskos narrowed his eyes at her. "Defending recruits, Valentia? As if risking neck for Ashur did not satisfy twisted morals?" He asked, but she shot a look towards Crixus who simply shook his head disapprovingly.

"No risk was taken," she dismissed. The Gaul snorted and shoved a bowl of food under her nose.

"Take your own fucking words to heart," he said, getting up and heading into the barracks. Valentia looked down at the thick porridge, but pushed it towards Rhaskos. She stood and made her way towards the edge of the cliff, sitting down, her legs hanging over the precipice. A breeze greeted her, tickling her skin as it stroked her face, lifting the hair from her eyes as Ashur so often did. She had learnt to hate the cliff in her time at the ludus. It offered the sight of freedom, a vast, endless world to explore, far out of the reach of Rome. She recognised the twisting river below as the one she had been sent down upon her capture. That way, a path marked by a wavy golden road surrounded by lush trees and birds singing the praises of their freedom, that was her way home. One step, off that cliff, and that freedom was hers. One tiny step was all it would take, and the wind, dearest of all her friends, would carry her home, like the birds.

"Go back," Valentia ordered firmly, having caught the sounds of unfamiliar footsteps behind her. They could only be those of a recruit, for she knew the footfalls of her brothers like the beating of her own heart. The man stopped momentarily, but continued to move closer despite her orders.

"Doctore gave strict instruction," Agron said, placing a bowl of food in her lap. "I am not to leave your side until you have taken meal." He sat down next to her and gave her an expectant look. Valentia looked down at the food, and took up the spoon. Pleased, Agron grinned.

He had overheard the men speaking of her lack of training and eating; their concern making its way into the tone of their voices.

"She will lose her next match if such attitude is kept up," one of them had stated.

"If attitude is kept she will die of starvation long before; nothing like a Brother should," another said.

"That stubborn fuck? She would not pass into the afterlife unless Doctore commanded it," Scoffed another, though they appeared not to take any notice of him. He wore street clothing, with a brace on his leg and a scar on his upper arm. Agron thought he must have been an injured gladiator, much like Crixus, though why they ignored him, he couldn't say. In Agron's mind they should have taken heed of the wounded man's words, and since they would not, Agron decided he would take advantage of their negligence. If he could befriend this gladiatrix then perhaps she would be more willing to continue her protection of the German brothers, or simply of Duro should they be split up, or should anything unpleasant happen to the elder brother. If an order from Doctore was what it took to get her to do something, then she would receive one, whether the man himself gave it or not.

"You have my gratitude, for looking out for the recruits," he said once she had taken a few bites. She raised her head and frowned, looking out at the setting sun.

"Crixus has stood upon lofty cloud so long he forgets that once he was of similar position." She noted, taking another bite. Her appetite seemed to return with each spoonful. "You, too, one day be will be struck with such a failure of memory."

Agron made a silent vow that he would forget no such thing. He remained still beside her, not bothering with idle talk, watching the sunset until she got herself up and left. Agron smirked, a sideways glance letting him know that just as he had hoped, the bowl was empty. He turned to watch her leave when she stopped and looked back at him from over her shoulder.

"Do not think me a fool, Agron. Doctore gave no such command."

All the flustered German could do in response was stutter.

* * *

><p>The sound of moaning and the smell of sex filled the damp air of the barracks that night. Agron and Duro had been placed in a cell among the other recruits to sleep on the hard floor as animals until they had proven themselves as something more. They hadn't been there for more than ten minutes, being driven mad by the sounds, when a guard came down to their cell saying that Agron's presence had been requested.<p>

"For what purpose?" He demanded angrily, not pleased at being displaced, especially when he wasn't sure if this was going to be a pleasant experience or not.

"Your Domina wishes to break words, now on your feet." The guard kicked Agron's leg harshly, though his words were enough to get him up. He followed the guard up to the villa, his eyes widening as he took the place in. In Germania, luxury was considered a well-put together blanket of pelts to keep warm at night. Here, however, luxury seemed to be all about decoration, not need. White marble glistened in the firelight, the floors were spotless, and Agron even noticed several pools filled with crisp, clear, dancing water, which he could make out no purpose for but aesthetic. The colours of the walls varied from room to room, each of these separated by curtains of material which could not be seen through. In the middle of one room, on the other hand, a series of couches appeared to be surrounded by curtains that were perfectly see through, dyed vibrant orange and red. Would he meet his Domina there? He heard of the duality of gladiators, seen as nothing more than slaves, but revered for their prowess in the arena. It was not unheard of that a Roman should wish to bed such a man. He wondered of his Domina, with the flowing red dress with the plunging neckline, the brown ringlets that softly brushed at her back, was the type to sample her wares, to play with her new toy right away. Agron couldn't help but smirk deviously as the guard led on, but it was quickly wiped away when he was directed towards a more modest room. Inside, he found the woman in red. She had been staring out a window, but upon hearing the curtain move she turned and smiled timidly at him.

"Thank you, Hector. I will summon you if needed," she called to the guard, and she did not speak again until his footsteps echoed far enough away for her liking. She sat down on a high bed covered in pillows, and beamed at him.

"Batiatus tells me your name is Agron," she said, to which the German nodded. He was unsure what to think of the woman, taking a moment to appraise her before shaking himself and addressing the woman properly.

"Yes, Domina," he said solemnly. She frowned.

"I would have you call me by my true name, Ancilla. Come, sit. I have a favour to ask of you," she commanded softly, patting the bed beside her. Now unsure of this whole situation, Agron hesitated, but ended up sitting beside her out of the fear that her seemingly kind personality would suddenly turn vile if her wishes were not obeyed.

"Do you know of Roman wedding customs?" She asked, to which Agron shook his head that no, he did not. This woman kept getting stranger. It was as though she was a slave herself, and they were speaking on equal footing.

"The pater familias, the patriarch of the family, has the right to choose whom his daughter is wed to. If she is married Cum Manu, with hand, then she is the property of her husband. Sine Manu, without hand, she remains of her father. Roman law states that since I am unmarried, my father holds right of life and death over me. He could have me killed for no reason, should he so desire it, and has many times threatened to do so." She whispered the last sentence, her knuckles whitening as she gripped the edge of the bed.

"Daughters such as I are not but bargaining pieces to their fathers. If my father held any love for me, then it would not be terrifying to allow him to keep such a power in hand. He insists that when I marry my future husband that I will be married Sine Manu, which will keep my father in control over me, and my future husband seems perfectly content to accept that. This is where I need your help," she said, looking Agron in the eye.

"Both my father and the man he has promised me to greatly favour the games. If you can become a gladiator worthy of note, and if I can defeat you, he may also think me worthy of note as well. My future husband will most certainly want control over me, and insist that I marry Cum Manu. My father will have to comply if he wants his business to go over smoothly."

"You wish to be free of one tyrant only to be ruled over by another? Why not run away?" Agron asked, feeling as though her plan was pointless.

"He would surely find me. A life of being ruled over by a placid husband is a far better choice in my view than a life of being under constant fear of execution. I do not ask your help for nothing. In return for allowing me to defeat you in the arena, I will grant you anything you desire." Not being one to let a chance slip by, Agron spoke his truest wish.

"I let you defeat me, and get your chance at a Cum Manu marriage, and you return freedom to myself and my brother Duro," he answered, making it clear that it was all or nothing on this term. He would do it, but only if she could free both of them. This bizarre female, this strange woman, she was his and his brother's chance at escape. She was not what Agron had at all been expecting, but, overall, he figured she was probably better for him as she was than how he had envisioned her, and although he found it odd, when Ancilla held out her arm, Agron clasped it. The girl beamed up at him.

"It's a deal."


	6. Anxietas

The moon had risen, and with it the fiery air that the sun had left behind cooled, turning pleasant and sweet. The fire, however, seemed not to have left at all, but merely seeped into Duro where it continue to burn. The news that his brother had secured both their freedoms had not been taken well. He was eager to prove his worth, he had wanted to regain freedom, yes, but with the sweat of his own brow. Worst yet was that Agron had forced the woman to purchase Duro as well; he hadn't been purchased of his own merit. His pride was deeply wounded. Spite had kept the kinsmen from making eye contact ever since Agron had revealed the bargain he had struck with their Domina. As Agron prepared himself, stretching his tense muscles, he looked over to Duro, hoping that he would break words. Either of them could be swept off to the afterlife that very eve, and while this would sadden him deeply, however it happened, he did not wish to leave his brother to perish in anger.

Duro was also preparing himself, the things he had learned under Doctore's whip running rampant through his mind, every move he could block, every thrust of his own blade, all there, ready to be thought of in the heat of battle, ready for his body to respond to his will. He sat still, his eyes glazed over, seeing what was within his own thoughts rather than the outside world. It was only after several minutes of this that he came out of his own realm, and began sizing up his competition. For all he knew he could be pitted against Spartacus, which would be the end of him. Agron could best him, but Duro? On his own? No. Outwardly, he would give semblance that he could take on the Champion of Capua blindfolded with one arm tied behind his back. Inwardly, he knew the Thracian could spill his brains upon the sand with a single blow. If he had to hold his own against Spartacus, then he would make good use of his shield. Deny any attack, even a potential one. Flinch, it would not pain him to flinch. He might perish if he did not. Valentia, another he did not wish to face. He had not seen her in combat, and as such did not know her strength, nor her trickery. None of the recruits knew what she was capable of. She was on fair terms with Agron, however, and might be willing to give advice. Duro lifted his eyes to scan the ludus, searching for the woman. Batiatus and his guests were to arrive on the balcony at any moment to view spectacle, and yet their champion was nowhere to be seen. Thinking that his eyes were deceiving him, he got up and paced the sands, searching for both Spartacus and Valentia. He then noticed Segovax below the balcony, going into the barracks. He jogged over, thinking if Valentia and Spartacus refused to be found, that Segovax might be willing to aid him. He found himself winded by an arm across his stomach, stopping him dead in his tracks. He looked over to see Valentia, her eyes narrowed at Segovax, an ugly scowl pulling at her lips. All was quiet for a moment within the stone halls, nothing moved or sounded, and both Duro and Valentia remained perfectly still. Then there were several noises, there was clearly a fight going on. Duro pressed forward, wishing to help his fellow recruit, but Valentia took his arm and gripped it with the force of a Titan. "Do not interfere," she ordered, and on silent toes dashed forward.

Inside, it was clear what was happening. Segovax had a rope around Spartacus' neck, clearly aiming for the Champion's death. Both men had their backs turned to the door, and so it was easy for Valentia to leap towards them, her clawed hand sinking deeply into Segovax's dreadlocks. She tugged his head back before her fist connected with his nose. She clamped the once fisted hand down over the Gaul's throat, swinging her legs over the man's chest as he fell backwards in shock. He released Spartacus to regain his balance, but was not successful in the attempt, and went crashing to the floor. Having landed on his chest Valentia landed two more hits to the man's face before he took her waist and tossed her over his head. She landed harshly on her back, her hand still firmly rooted in his hair. She tugged it towards her, dragging the man away from Spartacus until Segovax caught hold of her hand and pulled her forwards, twisting her wrist painfully. She used the momentum to land another punch to his head, though once she was in front of him, it was she who received three blows to the face, and a fourth to the hip. He was suddenly pulled away and tossed aside by a more familiar Gaul, Crixus, who then proceeding to wail on the bold recruit. Valentia scuttled over to Spartacus, placing herself protectively over his gasping form. A few more strikes were exchanged before Segovax was knocked to the ground, losing several teeth in the process. The guards who had finally come to break up the fight hauled Segovax's limp body out into the ludus, leaving Valentia, Spartacus, and Crixus to catch their breaths.

"Fool," Valentia snarled. "Wounded fool." Crixus was still healing from injuries sustained in his battle against Theokoles , and yet he risked his life to save a man he held no love for. She realised that this defence of a brother was the unspoken code, yet she could not bring herself to commend him for it. She herself held Spartacus in low regard, she had done her duty, but she had not been injured.

"You are no Cestus*, a fact it would seem you take pleasure in ignoring." He huffed.

"You would kill a fellow Gaul, to save a man you hate?" Spartacus struggled to ask,

"I did not save Spartacus," Crixus said, rising to his feet. "I saved a brother who shares the mark. You have earned a glorious death, and will die at the hands of a gladiator." He helped Valentia to her feet and the two made their way back to the sand. Valentia held her injured wrist, limping as she went, letting the blood flow freely from her nose. Nothing she could do would stop it until it chose to stop. She spat what blood trickled down her throat onto the sand before turning to Ashur, who had come hobbling as quickly as he could.

"Have you lost mind?" He asked, "You are no Cestus!" He whispered harshly, taking her chin. He wiped the blood from her face as she chuckled.

"You echo Crixus' very words."

"You defend Crixus, then?" He asked, disbelief and anger making their way into his voice. He glared intensely at the Gaul.

"As I shall need to defend you, should your gaze not soften." She said gently, bringing his gaze back to hers. "Strike it from mind. I will heal quickly." She squeezed his arm to assure him of that fact. The invalid nodded, continuing to wipe the blood from her face until the flow ceased.

Agron approached the girl from behind Ashur, who turned when he saw Valentia looking over his shoulder.

"You wish to break words?" He asked not without a sharp edge in his tone.

"Gratitude. Duro could have hung beside him but for you," Agron said simply, his eyes flicking to Segovax. Valentia nodded her acknowledgement, and Agron went away wishing she would speak more easily with him.

* * *

><p>When she entered the villa, Ancilla continued to smile and laugh as she had done all evening, since she had entered Illithyia's home. She was polite, and gracious, and never overstepped her boundaries, and behaved as she should despite her true desires; which was to find the darkest corner available to her and throw up into it until she no longer could. She had already done that the day before however, and so could not bring up anything even if she tried. She was nervous, very nervous. The presence of Tiberia however, was of some aid. Although she was Illithyia's friend, Tiberia and Ancilla had known each other in passing for quite some time, and Tiberia had always been kind to Ancilla. Had she not been there, Ancilla might have let out a scream when Batiatus informed the women that Spartacus had been attacked in the baths by a recruit. She might have crumpled to the floor when she heard the sharp ting of metal colliding on metal, and the scream of a man in agony. Using the extra courage Tiberia gave her, Ancilla ran to the balcony. She did not pause to feel pity for Segovax. She only identified him, and continued to search for her men. She found Agron standing fairly close to the balcony, and Duro leaning against a makeshift platform. She sighed a breath of relief as Agron gave her a nod, they were unharmed. Batiatus and Lucretia questioned Illithyia about the attack, Segovax being her man, but she pled ignorance of any motive he might have had, and stormed out.<p>

"He isn't your man I hope," Tiberia said quietly, looking at the man who now hung dead by his arms. Ancilla shook her head no, not trusting her stomach enough to open her mouth.

"Well, the proceedings must continue if we are ever to have our recruits become gladiators. Sit, I'll have Naevia bring wine." Lucretia, said, motioning to a few chairs that had been set out. Ancilla sat gladly, trusting her legs as much as her stomach. Her men were unharmed, but they would not necessarily remain so. The test began, and Ancilla's stomach quietly tied itself into knots while the recruits went about the business of earning their mark. When it came for Agron's test, the knots tightened uncomfortably. He climbed atop the platform, and stood against a man named Pollux. He held his own bravely, and fiercely. In fact Ancilla had to say that by the end of the fight, although he had a few cuts, things had gone better than she had dared hope. Then it came time for Duro's test.

"Are you well?" Tiberia asked, laying her wrist across Ancilla's forehead. The sweat there was enough to inform the younger girl that all was not as it should be.

"The heat is to blame." Ancilla said easily, though Tiberia did not believe her. Duro raised himself to the platform, his opponent being a gladiator called Hamilcar. He was by no means as famed as Spartacus or Crixus, but she had no doubt that he would be a fair match for Agron. Batiatus had made it no secret that Duro was nowhere near as skilled as his brother, and so when the two men's blades clashed, Ancilla's world froze, and all the knots that had previously invaded her organs suddenly fell to the pit of her stomach and lay there like stones. She had wanted to shut her eyes, but found herself unable to. She kept her hands clenched together as Duro fought, finding herself reaching out when the Hamilcar's blade came too close to the German's body. He managed to defend against Hamilcar, but only just. Once the fight was over, Ancilla had a great desire to rush down into the ludus to her men, simply to see them, to be near them, but she reigned her emotions in until the fights were over, and they had all been branded. At that point, however, she was quick to have Agron and Duro summoned. She was about to go meet them when Tiberia handed her a small jar.

"I had brought this at Illithyia's request, for her gladiator's burn." Ancilla opened the lid, identifying the substance within it in a matter of seconds. "Your gladiators proved more deserving. I wish I had men like yours," she said with a hint of a smile. Ancilla knew that Tiberia had a passion for the games, as many Romans did, and so she took the younger girl's hand.

"Come meet them, I have need of another set of hands." She urged, though it did not take much to convince her. The two girls made their way to the room where Agron and Ancilla had first met, two very happy gladiators waiting for them with grins on their faces.

"Agron, Duro, congratulations. This is Tiberia, a most valued friend. She comes to aid me." Ancilla said, holding up the jar. "Sit," She said, motioning for her men to take a seat upon the bed. Tiberia took Agron's arm, and as gently as she could applied the solution. The gladiator bent over to sniff it.

"What is it, Domina?" He asked, looking into Tiberia's startling silvery blue eyes.

"Aloe, from Africa." She said, hardly believing she was in the presence of a true gladiator.

"My father would have me crucified if he could see me now." She said with a slight tremor in her hand. Agron attempted not to wince.

"Giving aid to slaves is not permitted?" Tiberia seemed to struggle a moment.

"It is permitted, but not for someone of my status." She said quietly, attempting not to sound self-important. Agron simply nodded, and felt touched that she had stooped to what was considered a lowly level to care for him. She took some bandages that Medicus had provided, and wrapped the mark. Ancilla, who had progressed to the same task, looked nervously up at Duro. He looked conflicted, and confused as he watched her work, though he watched her face not her hands.

"On what day falls your birthday party, Tiberia?" Ancilla asked, looking to the girl as an excuse to avoid Duro's almost pleading eyes.

"The sixteenth, my father is intent on inviting all sorts of corpses to celebrate," she said, rolling her eyes. It would not truly be a party, more of a senate meeting within his villa. "Do come, it will relieve my boredom." She said, finishing up Agron's bandage. Ancilla chuckled.

"I will make attempt, though your father may not be pleased."

"Nor will he be pleased with me if I remain. It grows late. Gratitude for allowing me to visit with your gladiators." She said, looking them over with a smile, "I look forward to their first match." Ancilla was tempted to reply that she dreaded it, but she simply returned the smile.

"Gratitude for the help." She responded.

"Happy birthday, Tiberia." Agron said with a wave and a grin, making Tiberia blush, though she did wave back as she left. Alone with her men, Ancilla turned to her gladiators.

"You've done well. A reward is in order, name what you wish, it will be yours."

"Sleep," Agron said with a yawn and a chuckle.

"I wish to earn my own freedom, Domina." Duro said lowly, pleading Ancilla with his eyes. This was exactly why she hadn't wanted to purchase him in the first place. Those brown eyes, full of life. How could she condemn them to death? Ancilla looked to the ground. How could she deny him, even though it was for his own good that she did so?

Duro watched his Domina fidget, wringing her hands as she looked to the cool floor beneath her feet. It was clear she did not want to give him what he'd asked for. He hung his head, defeated, angered, and saddened.

"Teach me how to defeat your brother. If your lessons allow me to defeat him, your freedom will be secured along with his." She said, her voice hard, trying to make it seem as though he had no other option. She held out her arm, as she had with Agron before him, and although Duro was not entirely convinced that this was enough to earn his freedom, he clasped her arm in acceptance.

* * *

><p>A Note from Grizzly<p>

Well, that took forever and a half. This chapter is dedicated to Tomahawk Girl, who celebrated her sweet sixteen several months ago. I wasn't kidding when I said this chapter would be a belated present!

You may have noticed there's an asterix beside the word cestus, and that is because there's a little bit of explaining to do. Spartacus gets history a bit weird sometimes, so there may be a few more of these to come.

If you remember (assuming you've seen the series), when Spartacus is in the pits he draws a pair of cestus as his weapons. His opponent draws Sphairai, a pair of cestus with a nasty set of spikes topping the knuckles. Both are essentially an ancient set of brass knuckles. While cestus does refer to the actual glove, it also refers to the fighter using them. cestus were the Roman forerunners of modern day boxers (I say Roman forerunners, because really the Romans took the idea of boxing, not to mention many other ideas from the Greeks), and while they weren't considered true gladiators, cestus fights were extremely bloody, and got increasingly more violent over the years until they were banned around 300 AD. All this goes to explain that when Crixus tells Valentia that she is no cestus, he is essentially reminding her that she is not a boxer. Forgive a history nut her ramblings, and enjoy the rest of the story.


	7. Praeceps

Ashur hissed with pleasure, clutching the sides of the cot he sat upon, the straw of the bed beneath poking at his palms. Valentia's fingers ran over his calf, massaging the flesh there to help sooth it, having just released his leg from its cast.

"How I've longed for that." He whispered, a grin coming to his face. Valentia set his foot down delicately, and offered him her hand.

"Now the difficulties begin. Come, stand." She urged, as he took her shoulders. His leg shook, unsure of how to support weight without the cast it had grown so accustomed to. He lifted it when it became too much, leaning his weight on Valentia's frame. "Sit if you must, I would not have you injured."

"Can you hear the little ones outside?" Ashur asked, again putting weight on his leg.

"I can. A little girl and boy playing Gladiatrix and Doctore. Is she not the child who plans to enter the arena, and against her own men?"

"Child?" Ashur chided, looking down at his companion.

"Sit down, you are of considerable weight. Let me rest." She instructed, ignoring his comment.

"You are two years her elder," Ashur sat down slowly as though it caused him pain to do so, "You are but a child yourself, and were younger than she when you first stepped onto the sand." He scolded. She did not think herself a child, but she would not dispute this with him. To deny his claim would only serve to prove his point. She rotated her shoulder, stretching the muscle that had held Ashur up. It was then that a small cry came from outside, and Valentia shook her head. No doubt Duro had defeated Ancilla once more. She looked at Ashur as he sat on the bed, her eyes clouded over with thought. She did not notice that Ashur was staring back at her, waiting for her to voice concern.

"You would not betray her, would you?" She asked quietly, worry filling her eyes as she came back from her own thoughts. Valentia knew Ashur was not above treachery, although she knew, or rather hoped she was exempt from this. He had so far not given her any reason to doubt his honesty towards her.

"Not until you command it, Regina."

"I am no queen, I am a slave." She huffed, pulling the man back to his feet. He stood tall and proud, unwilling to accept help from Valentia when he noticed Crixus standing outside the cell, staring at the pair.

"It lifts heart to see you upon your feet," Valentia said, truly happy to see that Crixus was not badly hurt after his scuffle with Segovax. She could see a retort forming behind his eyes, one to humiliate Ashur, but Valentia's presence stilled his lips and moved his legs.

"Do you still doubt your place?" Ashur asked, a smirk upon his face as he watched Crixus leave. Valentia pushed herself under his arm, knowing that he would fall if she did not. He stumbled slightly, though the arrogant smirk did not fade.

"Sit, before you plant ass into ground." She huffed, bending to sit with him on the bed.

Outside, Ancilla held her wrist, her hand trembling from having her blade slashed out of her grasp. Tears threatened in her eyes but she blinked them back, eventually turning her head when Duro knelt to see the damage, so that he would not see those droplets that slipped.

"Your grip your sword as if to strangle it," he noted, turning her hand over between his. He knew, he'd been guilty of the same not so many weeks ago, and suffered the same injury because of it. "Take it as though it is a bird in hand. Too tight and crush it's bones, yet too lose and it may take flight." He said, placing the sword back into her palm. He rose, tapping her leg with his own blade. Ancilla kept her head turned as she wiped her eyes but turned with all due tenacity towards Duro once more, raising her injured, shaking hand, and continuing to practice despite it. Once, she even managed to almost land a blow.

"The Ludi Romani commence tomorrow, Ancilla. Do no more damage to your man for tonight." Batiatus called from the balcony. Ancilla nearly snorted. Damage? To Duro? He could block every move she made! There could be damage to the sand, the walls, or herself, but to Duro? Never. She doubted she would ever touch him much less damage him. She handed the sword shakily to him.

For a moment, it appeared to Duro as though she was going to say something to him. Her mouth opened slightly and she looked at him with such purpose in her eyes. A few seconds later however she was scurrying up to the villa. Duro stood confused for a moment, wondering what she was about to say, but dismissed it when Batiatus waved him away. Some gladiators were permitted to roam free within the ludus, but he was not among them. He was new, and therefore not as trusted as some others. He passed their cells, a guard following at his back, naming them off as he passed. Crixus, Hamilcar, Onemaus, one empty cell, and Valentia, who sat staring at the bed which no one lay upon. She reminded him of a sulking hound.

Up in the villa, another face was pulled into a frown. Ancilla sat grimacing as a slave gently sponged the dirt and sweat from her skin. She stared at the water, watching the waves move to and fro as she mulled over what had just happened. She had wanted to wish Duro good luck, to tell him to be safe during his first fight tomorrow, but she thought she had better not. She might curse him if she wished him good luck. Then again what if she didn't, would he fail? She pressed her fingers to her lips, and attempted to calm herself. He was fighting with Agron. Even if Duro was not ready to fight, Agron would protect him. Wouldn't he? Surely he would, they were brothers, after all. Then again, her own familial ties meant nothing. Her father's protection was something she'd never felt confident in, why should any relationship be any different?

_Please, Agron, do not let Duro fall._

* * *

><p>The arena rumbled with the stomps of the many footed beast above, The Crowd demanding more blood for its insatiable hunger. Sand slipped from the planks above the gladiators' heads, and only the recruits paid any attention to it. A few criminals had been executed already, and a few matches had gone through. Most had ended well, Duro thought. Most of the men who fought had been granted their lives when they begged for it.<p>

In this fact, Agron gained a bit of hope. If his brother begged for mercy, he had a chance at receiving it, that and the fact that he could be in the arena with his brother to defend him if things went wrong was of extra comfort.

Duro on the other hand, despite having Agron at his side, he was still unsure, confidence fleeing him the very moment he needed it the most. He watched his own hands shake, reeling from the unnerving feeling of being unable to control them. His stomach churned, and he thought he might just lose what little food he'd been able to force down. He wiped the sweat from his palms once again, and focused on what his brother was doing to distract himself. Agron had been struggling with his helmet for the past half hour and was on the brink, Duro suspected, of giving up altogether. He had taken to watching Valentia march back and forth, helping her brothers prepare for the day ahead. Bringing them water, food, helping them tie on their armour. It was another few moments before he spoke up and asked for her aid.

"It will not fit properly," Agron said simply, handing her the helm.

She looked from it to Agron for a moment, turning the helmet this way and that before she seemed to realise the problem.

"Move, sit upon the ground." She ordered, and although he could not know why, he did as commanded. "Tell me if I cause discomfort," She said in a considerably softer tone before she took the dreadlocks from his forehead and began folding them backwards onto themselves.

Her fingers rejoiced as they moved, remembering the motions she had performed on Barca a dozen times over. Once she had finished, she placed the helmet over his head and patted his shoulder. "Does it fit properly now?" She asked and Agron gave a sheepish nod, he had thought perhaps his head was simply too large.

Valentia left momentarily, and returned swiftly with something in her fist. "This will help your stomach," she said, dropping a small piece of something into his hand. "Chew it thoroughly before you swallow it," She said before putting a hand in his hair. She ruffled it, looking to Agron's braid before deciding Duro's hair did not require the same treatment. She checked his gear over, lifting his limbs one at a time before doing the same to Agron. She tightened one of the straps over his shoulder just as a corpse from the previous match was dragged past. Duro violently threw up whatever Valentia had given him. It was then she realised that no medicine she could give him would do any good, so she grabbed his chin and stared him in the eye. "Send him back to his maker." She growled, pushing him forward off the bench.

Duro stood, sure if he did not stop walking his legs would fall from beneath him. He joined Agron at the gate and both brothers glanced back at Valentia before entering the arena. Batiatus must have done a good job of introducing them, for the crowd cheered wildly as they marched upon the sands.

The gates shut, and Valentia's brothers surrounded her, eager to see whether their new siblings would survive their first battle.

Crixus snorted as the first sword fell and almost took Duro's life.

"The boy will not see nightfall." He said roughly, earning him a swat from Valentia.

"Leave him! You were once a recruit, beaten and bruise, skewered at the end of Barca's spear!" She snarled, her heart constricting in her chest. Barca had been through many sets of recruits, and although he'd given Valentia the tools she'd needed, what to give a gladiator with an upset stomach, how to tighten greaves and tie back hair in a way that did not require endless amounts of strings, he had not prepared her for the fear they might have experienced. Barca would have known that Duro was not sick; he was scared. A quick look to Agron showed her that he was in The Deep; a place of pure instinct where pain and sound were banished. Agron was the perfect gladiator, Valentia needn't fear for him, and so as Duro fought for his life Valentia watched silently over him, her knuckles whitened on the bars as her mind screamed what her voice could not manage; _Move, Duro! Move!_

Duro was overwhelmed almost instantly. He had glanced but for a second to the pulvinus, seen that Ancilla had a wide eyed expression, and was caught off guard immediately by his opponent. The man slashed away, and Duro felt as though he could do little but defend against his attacks. He was knocked onto his back with a particularly nasty blow, and as the sword came down, Duro's heart stopped. This was it. This was the end. He lifted his axe, and was at one surprised, delighted, and stunned that the curve in his axe had managed to catch the other man's blade. Duro twisted his weapon, wrenching the sword away from his opponent, until a shield came crashing down with a devastating blow to his head. The world and his head seemed to split in two, then it seemed to blur out of focus as again the shield came down. He lifted his hand feebly, two shaking fingers begging for mercy, only to have it smashed aside by the shield. Duro was only thankful for a moment that that blow hadn't gone to his head, when another one came down. Why was it coming down so slowly? He looked for his axe, but it was too far away, even as he stretched for it, his fingers sprawling for the weapon, he knew it would be too far away, even if his arm was double its own length. He closed his eyes to keep the blood out of them, and thought of Agron, somewhere within the arena, wishing he would come save him. He thought of his mother, who was the best cook in the village, his father, on whose shoulders he used to ride. He thought of the hounds his family kept, and of the trees he'd climbed, before the Romans had come to snatch him away. The shield came down once more, and Duro could faintly hear someone screaming.

"AGRON!" Valentia yelled when she finally found her voice, which was familiar enough to the German that it penetrated through The Deep. He turned, saw his brother being pounded into the sand, and leapt at the man, driving his sword through the man's back just as the shield struck Duro for the final time. The man slumped forward, his blood draining out over Duro's chest.

It was the spreading warmth, and the terrible weight over him that let the younger German know that he wasn't dead. He was in too much pain to have passed into the afterlife. The worst of it was the feeling in his head; as though if he were to sit up his brain would slip from it.

He felt the weight lift, and found himself able to breathe properly again. Agron stood over him, and was offering him his hand; the crowd was roaring. Agron had won, and Duro hated himself.

As Agron picked him up and walked him out of the arena, Duro couldn't help a backwards glance towards the pulvinus. Perhaps there was too much blood in his eyes, but he was sure Ancilla was no longer there. Perhaps she'd wanted to tell him she wouldn't see his match, because she had no faith in him, or at least not as much faith as she did in Agron. She hadn't wanted to watch an investment die he supposed. Either that or he wasn't important enough in her plan and she did not care whether he loved or died. He had been nothing more than a tag along anyway. He'd forced his way into a deal already struck. The throbbing in his temple pounded only one message into his brain as he re-entered the gates; _What a weak, stupid fool I am._

It was then that he spotted Ancilla, her white robes billowing behind her as she ran.


	8. Macellarius

Ancilla arrived just in time to see the scramble begin. Agron had Duro's arm, and was all but dragging the battered boy from the arena. Blood dripped from the younger's hanging head as he was moved, but that was all Ancilla had time to see before a guard met her head on.

"Women are not permitted to enter here, return to your husband," the guard said, holding out his arm to block her.

"Let me through!" The panic for Duro's life burst forth, making her voice crack. The soldier refused to move, and so she tried ducking under his arm, but he caught her by the robes and dragged her back.

"Lusty bitch," he snarled as he tossed her back. Her mouth dropped as she landed painfully on the ground. Lusty bitch? How could she possibly have any thought towards fucking a man who was bleeding to death on the floor? How could anyone?

"Let her through, I'll escort her," Batiatus said sternly, having followed her after seeing her run from the pulvinus; though not before explaining to the other guests about her weak spirit. The guard reluctantly moved aside, and Ancilla reigned in the urge to spit at his feet.

She stayed a few paces back from where Duro lay, noting the activity that was going on around him. She did not want to interrupt and possibly cause him injury, so she resisted the urge to kneel beside him and take his hand. Instead, she clutched nervously at her dress, resigning herself to feeling useless and frightened.

"Are you not his domina?" a blue eyed girl asked, and Ancilla immediately recognised her; _the girl from my first day of games … _Ancilla nodded; she was indeed Duro's domina. "Would you take orders from a slave?" she asked, and again Ancilla nodded. "Then come, make yourself useful," she said, motioning Ancilla forward. "Take his hand, speak to him. Keep him from sleep," the blonde ordered as Ancilla knelt at Duro's side, wondering what she should speak of, she knew so little of him. "Bring me Ashur," the girl shouted. Ancilla was very glad to see that several gladiators moved to do as she'd bid them. Duro was clearly in good hands.

"Tell me of your family, Duro," she asked, trying to ignore the fact that her hand was now slick with his blood.

"I have a mother," he said weakly as the blonde got to work on his head. Agron had his hand over his brother's forehead, having been ordered to press firmly on a second injury there. From what Ancilla could see, there were thankfully only the two wounds, however they were substantial.

"Yes, tell me about her. Is she kind?"

"Yes," he hissed as Valentia forced a cloth into the wound.

"What colour do her eyes hold?"

"They are…" he began, but his eyes fluttered.

"Duro, stay awake. Morpheus cannot yet have you."

"But I tire," he whined, which was followed by a short cry of surprise as Ancilla slapped his thigh harshly. She was sure the blonde was attempting not to laugh at the incredulous look Duro had given his attacker.

"If you do not speak, that will be the method I use. What colour are your mother's eyes?"

"Brown, they are brown!" Duro said almost pleadingly. The blonde called for two other men, who came and took hold of Duro's legs.

"Apologies," the blonde said quickly, taking a red hot blade from one of the gladiators, touching it to the inside of Duro's wound. He nearly crushed Ancilla's hand, screams and scent of burning flesh rising to the heavens. "Agron, hold this until Ashur arrives," the blonde ordered, having removed the blade. Duro's eyes began to close and his grip on Ancilla's hand slackened.

"Tell me more, do you have any brothers besides Agron?" Ancilla asked, tapping his hand lightly.

"Brothers… here…" he mumbled, his hand dragging hers along as he motioned to his surroundings.

"And sisters?" she asked as again the blond reached for a hot blade. "Sisters, Duro, do you have sisters?" Her heart clenched as what should have been a somewhat weak 'no' turned into a cry for the blond to stop, tears slipping down his face. Ancilla wished she could just let him slip away into unconsciousness while the blond went about her work. "Must he remain awake?" Ancilla asked the blonde.

"Yes, keep speaking," was the curt response.

"Tell me of your father," Ancilla said, as another man joined the group. He inspected the wound and began preparing a curved needle, the likes of which Ancilla had never seen before.

"Tall," Duro whimpered, as the needle pierced his flesh, and once Ancilla understood what they were doing she began to feel light headed. She hadn't known flesh could be sewn together like clothes.

"What else, what colour of eyes does he possess?" she asked, attempting to distract herself more than Duro at that point.

"Agron," he said, looking for up at his brother, who despite being pushed aside by Ashur was still watching protectively over his little brother.

"His eyes are the same as Agron's?" Ancilla asked.

"Yes," Duro hissed as he gritted his teeth. Ancilla daren't imagine the pain of having a thread dragged through one's flesh. These injuries, this pain he was in, this was all her doing.

"Apologies, Duro. I should not have done this," she said, knowing that if she'd simply held her resolve he would not be in such a state. Duro said nothing, but seemed to frown.

She hadn't made him fight, he'd asked her, he'd begged her to let him fight. This was no one's fault but his own, and it was a lesson. He was not ready to fight, but he would be. The next time he stepped into the arena, he would be able to wet the sand with his opponent's blood rather than his own. His muscles clenched as Ashur drew another string through his head. He suddenly realised he was thankful that Ancilla had his hand, but that he had probably caused her pain while in his own.

"It was my wish," he assured her as he got a reprieve while Ashur switched sides. "Ashur, how much more must I endure?" he questioned. Ancilla winced as Ashur pulled another thread.

"Two more such stitches pup, then Valentia will wrap your wounds. The Gods were on your side today," Ashur informed with a glance towards the blonde. She, like Agron, stood watch as Ashur worked.

Valentia agreed with Ashur completely. His injuries could have been far worse. She'd seen the damage blows to the head could cause; just the fact that he was conscious was sign that they favoured him. Once Ashur had finished Valentia applied herbs and had Ancilla hold Duro's head up while she wound a linen bandage over his forehead.

"Ancilla, you must return to the pulvinus, the guests there will wonder where you have gone," Batiatus insisted, noting that a whole match had passed without their presence. Before she left, Ancilla took Valentia's hands in her own, despite the blood that was now crusting upon them.

"Gratitude," she said, making sure that the gladiatrix knew she was thanking her from the very bottom of her heart. Without her, Duro would not be alive; although she did not want to worry either brother by saying it out loud. Valentia simply bowed her head, and pulled her hands away.

"Domina, Dominus," she said lowly, flicking her eyes to Batiatus, who was beginning to become impatient. Still, Ancilla took the time to gently squeeze Duro's hand.

"Try to rest, and recover quickly. You still have many things to teach me," she said before rising to her feet, attempting not to get blood on her robes. She would not be able to explain such stains away easily.

Once they had gone, Valentia helped Agron move his brother and settle him next to the wall where he would not be disturbed. After making a few more checks, Ashur deemed it safe for him to sleep. Valentia went back to helping her brothers, and Agron stayed with Duro. He did notice however, that despite her comings and goings, she would often glance Duro's way; until night came.

Agron had never seen Valentia fight, in fact he hadn't been sure she was a gladiator at all until he saw her tying on greaves. She sat in the same position she had put Agron in earlier, Ashur behind her, pulling her hair up into such a distinctive braid that Agron didn't think he could describe it if he tried. Her shadow writhed on the floor in the torch light as she pulled off her bindings, and she strapped what appeared to be a wine skin beneath her right arm. After this Ashur helped her pull on a thin leather manica*. This, her greaves, and a simple subligaria were her only armour as far as Agron could tell, and although he hadn't had much more, he still felt as though she was tempting the fates. She was handed a gladis, and went to stand by the gates just as Agron and Duro had done before. Agron's innards squirmed, not sure how to handle Valentia's distinct lack of clothing, nor the fact that Ashur had just tied a blindfold around her eyes. The girl smirked as the Syrian placed a quick kiss on the back of her head, whispering a prayer in a foreign tongue, begging the Gods for her safe return, before the gates were opened for her and the crowd burst into cheers.

Valentia stepped out onto the sand, one foot in front of the other, counting her paces as she went. At ten she stopped and thrust her blade into the air, and the crowd's voice magnified.

"Citizens of Capua! I present to you two titans of the arena! Aelius and Regulus of the stables of good Sollonius!" The editor announced as two men entered the arena. Agron, who had left his brother momentarily to watch the match, suddenly became quite fearful; these men were of no small stature. "They face the most fearsome creature in all the world, tamed by the hand of Quintus Lentulius Batiatus, Capua's own Chimera!" At this Valentia let out a yawp, inviting these men to attack. "Let the match begin!" The editor cried joyously, and the men sprang into action. Valentia crouched, putting her hand to the ground, and listened hard. They were far as of yet, she couldn't hear any of the noises an attacking man normally made. She listened carefully, pulling herself into The Deep. The noise in the stands filtered out, and she heard the sound of footfalls and heavy breathing. She squeezed a bit of wine into her mouth from the sack beneath her arm, pursed her lips, and ran her gloved hand along her blade as she blew the wine out of her mouth in a spray. It ignited, she could feel the heat of the fire ball on her face, and for a moment she could see the forms of the men she was facing light up through her blindfold. She targeted the one on her left while he was still reeling from the flames she'd blown in his face, and managed to slash his shield out of the way. His blade, she knew, would come flying in from his right, and so she brought her own sword up to her left, hearing them collide just short of her shoulder.

She grabbed his right wrist, the small flint hooks imbedded into her glove making it easier for her to keep hold of him, as well as making it exponentially more painful for him. By now his friend would have realised what was happening, and was probably lunging to help him. She hooked her leg around one of his and dragged his arm down. A roar of pain erupted from him. Her hooks had a painful bite, but that roar had to have been for something else, he hadn't jerked his hand away, but had tried to twist his whole body, likely away from the blade of his partner. By his tone however she deemed the wound he had likely received unsubstantial enough to have been mortally wounded. Normally men who were stuck like pigs didn't squeal.

She rolled her opponent over herself, using him as a shield from his partner while she took another mouthful of wine. This was knocked out of her mouth however when the man on top of her punched her in the side of the head. His right arm was still trapped in Valentia's grasp, his blade had been pinned under her in the skirmish, and so the gladiator had resorted to using his left hand. He gained a bit of footing and was able to put more weight into his punches as the result. Valentia attempted to raise her blade, but the man reached down and took it from her. Valentia had no way of knowing where it would be aimed, either head or stomach, but she predicted that unless she did something drastic she would be greeting Pietros and Gnaeus soon. She relinquished her hold on the man's arm and shoved her gloved hand upwards, catching him in the neck. The pain distracted him considerably, and the blade ended up slicing open her side. Not fatal, but painful. She ripped her hand away with a scream, tearing at the man's flesh, and hit him again, this time catching him in the jaw. With his partner so marred, Valentia knew that the other man should be coming for her right about then, although she had no idea where he was.

She grabbed the blade that had nearly taken her eye out and pulled it from the sand. She once again aimed her glove at her attacker's face, the pain causing him to lift his head away from her and give her the momentum she needed to roll him off herself. Pushing herself away from him she scrambled to her feet and listened carefully. She was in the utmost danger at the moment, not knowing where the other man was. She could not hear him, but that did not necessarily mean he was not close. Not many gladiators had the intelligence to learn how she found them, but there had been a few before.

She blew a fireball just in time to catch the sight of her second opponent lunging for her out of the corner of her eye. He was still far away however, and so she waited until she heard the metal of the gates clanking together. She ducked, Ashur's signal having been accurate, and the man's sword sailed over her head while hers struck up to slash open his belly. He tumbled down, whimpering in pain; she straddled him, raising before he plead with her.

"Missio!" He begged. She stayed her sword, but kept it above his head. She did not worry about the other man, she'd ripped his neck open; he was likely bleeding out now if he wasn't already dead. She waited, and listened as the crowd's voice diminished.

"A fine showing. Let Aelius be granted life, and Regulus be granted a quick death," the editor said, though Valentia could hear in his tone that he was none too impressed with her. The battle had been too quick, and not enough fire had been let loose for his taste, but none of this truly mattered to Valentia. She took off her blindfold and looked to the pulvinus. Ancilla had returned, with hands clean from what she could see. She was being fawned over by a few other women, but she didn't appear to see them. Her eyes were fixed on Regulus, paling as his blood seeped into the sand. Their thoughts resounded in unison as they locked eyes. _It could easily have been Duro._

Valentia knelt slowly beside Regulus, and rolled him over onto his side, placing his head so that it was rested in her lap.

"Apologies," she said softly as she brushed his blood soaked hair away from his neck. He gripped her thigh weakly as she placed the tip of her blade against his flesh.

"Be quick," he pleaded. She cradled his head gently, wishing him a safe journey to the afterlife as she plunged the blade into his neck.

* * *

><p>A Note from Grizzly<p>

A manica is an arm guard, usually worn on whichever arm the gladiator held his weapon in. You'll see them on many of the gladiators in Spartacus, especially Gannicus.


End file.
